1. Bianca
1
BIANCA
I stride down the hallway of my father’s sprawling mansion, my shoes clicking against the polished marble floor. The opulent surroundings are a testament to my father’s wealth and influence, with priceless artwork adorning the walls and armed guards stationed at every corner.
I offer the guards a polite nod, acknowledging their presence while maintaining an air of confidence befitting my status as the daughter of one of the most feared Mafia Dons in the city.
My mind is set on finding my sisters—Chiara and Mia—and inviting them to join me for a shopping trip at the mall. Balenciaga has released their newest handbag, and I’m determined to get it for myself. My sister Sofia had recently returned from France and presented all of us with new purses, but I can never have enough.
As I approach my father’s office, I hear the murmur of voices emanating from behind the closed door. My curiosity piques, and I can’t resist the temptation to find out what’s going on.
I pause outside the door. Looking around furtively, I lean in closer to catch the conversation. I know eavesdropping isn’t the most ladylike behavior, but my inquisitive—my sisters call it nosy—nature often gets the best of me. I’ve always been known for my willfulness and outspoken personality, and one of my favorite things to do is push buttons and find out information.
I try to decipher the muffled words, wondering what important matters my father might be discussing. It’s good to know that my father is back in his office, at least. With his cancer diagnosis, some days are better than others. Recently, my father has been bed bound, so I’m relieved to hear that he has his strength back for at least today.
Generally, if the door is shut like this, he’s discussing important matters with either my mother or his right-hand man, Victorio Tenebre. I debate whether to knock and announce my presence or continue listening, weighing the potential consequences of each action in my mind.
But then I hear my name.
I lean in closer to the door, straining to listen. My father’s voice is suddenly as clear as day.
“I just don’t know what to do, Anna. We’ve successfully married off Sofia, but now I’m at a loss for whom to marry Bianca to.”
My mother murmurs something too low for me to hear.
“No, he wouldn’t be appropriate for Bianca. She’s too intelligent, too outspoken, too willful for him. I can’t think of anyone who can keep up with her.”
Annoyance surges through me. Goddamn, is he seriously trying to find someone to marry me off to? It’s my father’s dying wish to see all four of us girls married off to ‘respectable’ men who can ‘protect us’, or whatever bullshit that means.
My sisters may have accepted this wish, but that doesn’t mean I do. I am more than just a goddamn broodmare. This drips of patriarchal bullshit, where I’ll be sold to the highest bidder. Why not just go back to the medieval times when kings held tournaments for their daughters’ hands?
Before I stop myself, I push open the door and stride into the room. “Are you seriously trying to figure out whom to marry me off to?”
Papa’s eyes narrow as he regards me, clearly irritated by my intrusion. “Bianca, were you listening in on our conversation?”
I meet his gaze unflinchingly. “It’s hard not to when you’re discussing how to sell me to the highest bidder behind closed doors, Papa.”
He sighs, rubbing his forehead as my mother closes her eyes in exasperation. “I’m not selling you off, Bianca. I’m trying to protect you.”
I scoff, folding my arms across my chest. “I don’t need a man to protect me, Papa. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Papa’s expression softens slightly. “Bianca, I only want what’s best for you. When I’m gone, you’ll be at the mercy of any man who comes around. I want to ensure that you have a strong, capable husband by your side to protect you.”
Ugh, I hate when he brings up his imminent death. It’s not fair. But I’m not going to make this easy for him. I cross my arms against my chest and scowl at him, my lower lip jutting out. It’s been my go-to expression for years to try and get what I want out of him.
Papa sighs again, looking weary. “What can I do to make you more comfortable with finding a husband?” he asks me.
That’s better.
“Make a tournament of it,” I declare. “Make it a battle of wills, and may the best man win.” It’s the most ridiculous idea I can come up with, but I dig my heels in. Maybe if I can get Papa to see that marrying me off is stupid, he’ll call the whole thing off. If he’s hell-bent on finding me a husband, then I’m going to be as obstinate as possible.
“Bianca!” Mama cries out. “What on earth are you talking about?”
I look at Mama, doe-eyed. “If you’re going to sell me off, you might as well make a tournament of it. Really legitimize the matter.”
This is so stupid, and Papa should see right through it. Maybe then, he’ll realize that I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.
To my surprise, my father looks thoughtful as he leans back in his chair. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Wait, really? You think so?”
“Nico,” she scolds, looking at him with shock. “You can’t be serious!”
He nods, clasping his sallow hands together. “Countless suitors have approached me, but none of them have been worthy of you. However, I need to ensure your security before I’m gone, and a demonstration of strength will at least prove that the man is physically capable of protecting you.”
Wait, is this seriously going to happen? Papa actually thinks this is a solid plan?
“Well, if I have to marry, it’s as good a plan as any. At least it will be entertaining to watch,” I remark.
Mama groans. I ignore her and continue, “But I have one condition, Papa. I want to pick the tasks they have to complete.”
Papa considers my request for a moment. “Very well, Bianca. You can choose the tasks, but I have some stipulations.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “Go on.”
“First, the tasks must not be designed to humiliate or demean the participants. We want to maintain a level of respect and dignity,” he states firmly.
I nod. “Fair enough.”
“Second, the tasks should test a variety of skills—strength, intelligence, problem-solving, and so on. We want a well-rounded champion,” he adds.
“Agreed,” I reply, already brainstorming ideas in my head. Could we rent a lion and put all the suitors in a room and see who wins, like they did in the gladiator days?
“And lastly.” He fixes me with a stern gaze as if sensing the direction of my thoughts. “I reserve the right to veto any task that I deem inappropriate or dangerous.”
Well, damn. There goes the lion idea. “Deal.”
“I have something I want to add,” Mama jumps in, her hazel eyes cool and assessing as she watches me carefully.
Papa swivels his head toward her. “Go on, Anna.”
“Your father and I get to pick the guest list,” Mama states. “ We will be the ones who decide which suitors are worthy to even be invited. And the Ambrosio boy will not be on there.”
Papa gapes at her and turns back toward me. “What about the Ambrosio boy?” he asks dangerously.
My heart thuds loudly. James Ambrosio and I have had a fling on-and-off for the last year or so, but we broke it off right after Sofia got engaged. We’ve never had sex—not that I didn’t want it—but after what happened to Sofia and Dominico, I didn’t want that to happen to me. But we definitely did other, equally pleasurable, things.
How the fuck did my mother find out? I thought we were careful!
“Nothing,” Mama says, her eyes still locked on mine. “I’m just making it clear that the Ambrosio boy isn’t a worthy suitor. I see the way he looks at Bianca. Is that understood?”
I grit my teeth, knowing Papa is watching me with narrowed eyes, but I nod sharply.
“Good,” Mama says. “You are excused.”
Irritation courses through me, and I find I am suddenly annoyed by how this has all been turned on me and how Mama nearly spilled my secret to Papa. “Fine,” I bite out. “You can have your guest list and your final say. But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
“We can live with your disappointment,” Mama calls out.
I stalk off, slamming the office door behind me with a little more force than necessary. My jaw clenches as I walk toward the staircase, incensed at the idea that I need a man at all. It’s always the same story—they only ever see me as a pretty little Mafia princess who was put on this earth to offer up an impressive inheritance for them to spend, wear frilly dresses, throw wonderful parties, and bear their children.
Disgusting.
But I want more out of life. I have dreams and aspirations that go beyond being someone’s trophy wife. Sofia may be okay with it, but I’m not. I’m intelligent, capable, and strong-willed.
I refuse to be reduced to a mere object to be traded and bargained for.
As I climb the stairs to go to my room, I can’t help but feel a sense of frustration and disappointment. I thought my father, of all people, would understand me better. He’s always encouraged me to be independent and strong, but now it seems like he’s just like all the other men who want to control me.
I flop down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. This tournament is my idea, and I won’t allow my parents’ stupid terms to get in my way. I’ll choose challenges that will truly test these suitors. I want a man who can keep up with me intellectually, who respects my opinions and treats me as an equal.
I refuse to settle for anything less. If I’m going to be married off, it will be to someone who sees me for who I truly am—not just a pretty face with a sizeable dowry. I’ll show them all that Bianca Marino is not a woman to be underestimated or trifled with.
With renewed determination, I sit up and haul my laptop onto my lap. I start typing down ideas for the tournament, a smirk playing on my lips.
These suitors have no idea what they’re in for. I’ll make sure that whoever wins my hand will have earned it, fair and square.